


Four in the Morning

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: (nothing happens in a vacuum), Canon-Typical Violence, Cell Phones, Family Dynamics, Gap Filler, Gen, Other, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, University Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>If I ate him now,</i> Tsukiyama thinks, <i>I would get a stomach ache.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Four in the Morning

**0.**

A bright, helpless giggle escapes him. Blood wells in his throat. He chokes, coughs. It tastes like blood, spit, and a little bile. Oh. He hears himself giggle again.

"Sorry," he says, breathless and very, very dizzy, "but it's a little bit funny, don't you think?"

Kaneki just stares at him. Tsukiyama hears himself giggle some more.

He thinks: _I'm losing my mind._

 

**1.**

There's a missed call. It's Mother. There's a voice message. 

_Shuu_ , she says, _your confirmation of completion of studies came in the mail. I apologise for opening it. I've put it on your desk._

A beat.

_Good night._

Tsukiyama rolls over. Pulls the covers up over his head. He shuts his eyes.

 

**2.**

Chie meets him for coffee.

"Oh, wow!" she says, picking up the menu with its bright-coloured layout and high definition pictures. "These are fancy!"

They are. It's a themed dessert café, which usually means that the coffee is not the main focus, but Tsukiyama does try to make an effort when he takes people out to eat. After all, that number is small. It currently only consists of Chie. If Tsukiyama is honest with himself, something he has a standing policy against, he'd admit it's only ever been Chie.

Chie orders a strawberry crêpe with vanilla ice cream and honey and lemon tea. Tsukiyama orders a cafetière of French roast. They're quiet while they wait, Chie snapping photos of the menu and the place setting from different angles. The theme of the restaurant is something to do with singing computer programmes. There are a lot of bright colours.

"How does it taste?"

Chie swallows, grinning broadly. "Sweet! Creamy texture," she enthuses before nodding to Tsukiyama's coffee. "How's that?"

It tastes heavy. Dark. It sits in his stomach like lead.

"Over-brewed."

Chie blinks. Tsukiyama takes another sip. Chie frowns. She picks up her tea, sips it. She never takes her eyes off him. He means to talk business, but he keeps swallowing the words with the poor coffee.

"How is the tea?"

The looks she gives him is uncertain. "It's good," she says, a little slower than usual before she rallies; her expression is falsely knowing. "Do you want me to be the critic today?"

No. " _Oui._ "

Chie obliges. She describes the different notes of honey sweetness and mild lemon sourness of the tea. Tsukiyama tries to imagine what that would taste like.

"Is it the kind of sour that you feel in your teeth?" _Something like the texture of fat in arteries?_

She shakes her head. "No, it's more like something that you would feel in your eyes if it was stronger. Like," and she stops to think it over very carefully. "Hm, I guess it might be like sudden sunlight. The honey mellows it out."

Tsukiyama tries to imagine. He can't. He wonders if this is torture.

 

**3.**

There's another missed call. It's from Matsumae. She didn't leave a message. There's several emails instead, splitting up the number of attachments. Credit card statements for Mother, Matsumae, and himself. His last tuition statement. Three separate requests for him to approve real estate renovations on the Kyoto properties. 

Tsukiyama pulls the covers up over his head, tablet inches from his face. He pays the bills and reads the renovation documents. He doesn't know why they need to install a Western-style bath in the second guest house, but on this sort of thing, Mother knows best. When it comes to fixtures and housing layout, Tsukiyama is really very simple. It needs a kitchen, bathroom, bedroom. It should be functional. But that doesn't increase the desirability of property, and considering the Tsukiyama family makes its legitimate (human) fortune being a real estate and hotel empire, that is what it is. 

He sends his approval, switches to his reading app. He still doesn't know why Matsumae tried to call him. She doesn't need him to talk to him about this. Did Mother actually want to talk? If so, about what? Graduation? Moving to Kyoto next year? Finances? What is he doing with his life?

Tsukiyama shuts his eyes. Places his tablet face down on the bed. He doesn't feel like reading. He has a headache.

 

**4.**

His phone is ringing. 

"Come over."

Kaneki. He must want to spar. Tsukiyama stares at the screen. He puts it back in the charging cradle. Gets out of bed. Gets dressed. He feels like he has cotton stuffed in his head and mouth.

Oh. Yes. He should eat something. Kaneki wants to spar.

There's not enough time to cook the triceps he has in the refrigerator. He cuts them into bite-size pieces to eat as he gets dressed. It's dark outside at five in the morning, but that's normal for winter. Tsukiyama pulls on pants, belt, socks, chewing and swallowing methodically between clothing. It tastes like congealed blood. It's been in the fridge for too long.

_What's happening to me?_

He shakes his head vigorously. No. Shut up. Don't think about it. He pulls a long-sleeve shirt over his head, takes another bite, puts on a high-collared vest because he can hear the wind. Socks. Meat. Coat. Meat. Shoes. Meat.

He finishes the meal (would have lasted him several days but now will only suffice the day, if Kaneki is gentle), locks up, and takes the stairs down to his car.

 

**5.**

His phone is ringing.

Kaneki blinks, like coming up from underwater. Tsukiyama coughs, thankfully dry. 

"Sorry, I forgot to turn it off."

Kaneki shakes his head, shrugging at the same time. Tsukiyama can calculate that he would have likely needed a top up on food before going home if they'd continued in that vein. He tries not to feel grateful for his absent-mindedness.

The phone reads: _Mother_.

She did want to talk to him. She's deliberately calling him as soon as she wakes up because she knows he doesn't usually get up for another hour. She's expecting him to wake him up and have him answer out of habit. 

"Are you going to answer?"

Tsukiyama switches the phone to silent. He puts it back in his vest's pocket, turns around. His kagune twists into ready. He smiles.

"We have business."

Yes. Business. Mother would understand that.

 

**6.**

"How is it?"

He's eating part of a calf. Baked in the oven, wrapped in foil to steam it. Extremely simple, but it makes it taste so much better. Hides the dubious origins. Hides the fact this isn't meat he hunted. He doesn't know where it came from, but he's eating it because -

"It's very good, Hinami-chan," he says, smiling.

She smiles back, eyes lighting up. "Oh, good," she says, cheerful and so much brighter than the pale winter sun. "I know you like to cook your meat."

That makes his smile come easier. The meat doesn't sit as heavy in his gut. He knows he's not supposed to talk to Hinami, not really, but -

"I do. Cooking it like this: it makes it more tender. Even if it's been sitting in the refrigerator a while."

The girl looks so alive. Her eyes are wide and earnest. She opens his mouth, and Tsukiyama actually wants to hear what she has to say. 

"Hinami-chan."

Banjou is awake. He frowns, obviously displeased on the scene he's walked in on in the tiny, inadequate kitchen. Hinami turns, still smiling. Tsukiyama puts a forkful of meat into his mouth so that he doesn't have to come up with an expression.

"Would you like breakfast, Banjou?"

"Ah, naw," and Tsukiyama can tell that Banjou's still eyeing him suspiciously even as he turns on a friendly, soothing tone for Hinami. "I think I'm just for coffee this morning."

Hinami's face falls. She rallies to keep the smile on her face. Banjou is already making a pot of coffee. He doesn't notice.

 _Let her cook for you_ , Tsukiyama nearly says. It would make her happy. Instead, he forces himself to take another bite of what was once thigh. One of his favourite cuts. Did she know? Guess? She sees a lot more than Banjou or Kaneki think. 

He feels his kagune shift under his skin. It makes him freeze, clamping down with all of his self-control.

_Why am I angry?_

The rage that nearly made him unleash his kagune a moment before curdles into abject and complete confusion. He was angry. About Hinami? About Banjou? About the food? Coffee? Why was he angry? Why -

"Oi, Tsukiyama, what's with that look?"

Tsukiyama slams a door on his thoughts. Looks at Banjou. Both Banjou and Hinami are watching him. Frowning. They look like bizarre mirrors of Chie a week ago at that themed dessert café.

Tsukiyama swallows, pretends that he wasn't finished chewing (there's nothing on the plate, liar), and smiles.

"I forgot. I had a phone call I need to make."

 

**7.**

He doesn't call Mother. He doesn't call Matsumae. In fact, Tsukiyama doesn't do anything when he gets home except strip, shower, and crawl into bed. He isn't tired, and he knows there's a long, long list of things he should be doing. Information collecting. Graduation paperwork. Laundry. Hunting. Anything.

Tsukiyama doesn't understand what is happening.

 

**8.**

This is -

"All these?"

Chie shrugs, twisting takeaway spaghetti around the fork. "Those are the best ones."

Chie wouldn't lie to him. Tsukiyama stares down at the small stack of photos. Different ghouls, all being fed upon by Kaneki. That it was so easy for Chie to get the photos, that she could actually select some to be considered best: they're being sloppy.

"Are you going to eat anything?"

Tsukiyama sighs through his nose. Shakes his head as he stares down at the photos as he lays them out on the coffee table. They're all wearing their masks in these, thankfully, but Tsukiyama knows that if the CCG was better at tracking by only a little bit, they'd have a very clear trail of all of their movements for the past week. The sheer amount of complacency threatens to give Tsukiyama a headache. He's been having a lot of those lately.

"Hey, Tsukiyama."

He looks up from the photos. Chie has finished the spaghetti and has the package of cannoli open in her lap. She isn't eating them yet, though. She looks at him with a slight frown on her face.

"Isn't your graduation coming up?"

To tell the truth, Tsukiyama never cared for school. He found high school dull and university is no exception. He doesn't care much for all the strange social trappings: culture festivals with food he can't eat, classes full of people looking for mates and sex as much if not more than knowledge. It's taught him how to imitate humans in a way that he would have never learned otherwise, though, and that is the best education he can really ask for. It was better than spending his life cloistered as he was in his youth with Mother and Grandfather, eating meat other people hunted.

" _Oui._ "

She takes out a cannoli with chocolate filling. "Are you going to attend?"

Tsukiyama shakes his head. Chie doesn't look surprised, but she tilts her head, fingers unconsciously lowering the cannoli slightly. 

"Have you told your mother and Matsumae-sensei?"

Tsukiyama shakes his head again. Chie blinks, raises the cannoli to her mouth. He watches her eat it. Across from them, the television plays a serial drama that neither of them have ever been able to really understand.

"It's late," he says, because it is; it's almost ten.

"Yeah," she says, brushing powdered sugar and crumbs onto the napkin in her lap. "Good night, Tsukiyama."

"Good night, little mouse."

 

**9.**

He stops by the florist. They have in honeysuckle. Tsukiyama loves how it smells. It's not the type of flower he usually buys, but he can't help himself. The florist, who Tsukiyama knows must recognise him by this point, smiles at him in the manner that some older people tend to, like they know something. Tsukiyama smiles back, just because it's useful for people to think things about him without actually asking.

The apartment, when Tsukiyama lets himself in, smells. The heating is on, and it hasn't been aired out recently. It's stifling. Banjou is the one who greets him, scowling and eyebrows pinched together.

"Where's Kaneki-kun?"

"Out with Hinami-chan," Banjou says, grudgingly, like it isn't a logical question. "You better have a good reason for making them rush."

"Of course," Tsukiyama says as he crosses the room to set down the new arrangement; he had to buy a new vase for it. "I did say it was urgent."

He's not a liar. He's manipulative and definitely conniving, but he doesn't think he goes around making a habit of lying to other people any more than he absolutely has to. Then again, he has to lie all the time, so maybe his perception of what makes him a liar is a bit warped. That thought makes him feel uncomfortable, so he tries not to think about it. He fusses over the arrangement instead.

"Hey."

Banjou is sitting at the kitchen table. There's a newspaper open on it open to the opinion and editorials. 

"Why do you always bring flowers?"

Tsukiyama shifts one of the stems, trying to find the right balance in the presentation. "It's polite when visiting another's home to bring gifts."

It's the wrong answer apparently because it makes Banjou scowl. "This isn't a home."

Tsukiyama stares back. No, it's not a home. Tsukiyama isn't stupid. He's the one paying the property tax under a heavily laundered identity. He can smell the unclean stains in the basement from up here. He smiles.

"No, it's not," he says, soft and deep and all the terror he has earned to his name, "but I won't tell Kaneki-kun and Hinami-chan that."

 

**10.**

The meeting doesn't go well. Not that Tsukiyama thought it would. But it goes wrong for reasons he just didn't think of.

"You had someone tail us? Take pictures?"

Tsukiyama doesn't understand. "I wanted to be certain of our defences."

Banjou makes to punch him. Kaneki holds up a hand, but there's that look in his eyes that on a ghoul would mean that Tsukiyama was lunch. On Kaneki -

"Who? One of your 'informants'?"

Tsukiyama hasn't used Chie for information yet, not for what they're trying to achieve. "No -"

Kaneki's fist connects with the table. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not!" Tsukiyama says, and he doesn't like the plaintive tone that makes its way into his voice. "This is about safety -"

"You told someone -"

"I didn't!" and Tsukiyama is shouting now; he _hates_ shouting. "I asked if anything had been seen -"

"What's going on?"

Hinami has come out of her room. They've made too much noise. She looks at them. First at Tsukiyama, probably because he was the last one to speak. He feels like a deer caught in the headlights. She looks at Kaneki, who's fist is still on the table, and then to Banjou, who has his teeth clenched so tightly he might crack them. Hinami frowns.

"I'm not stupid," she says, and there's a hardness there, even though her entire body is trembling. "You were all shouting. I heard."

The looks on Kaneki and Banjou's faces are priceless. Works of horrified art. Tsukiyama would find it amusing if he wasn't so riled up. He doesn't really understand why they insist on keeping Hinami in the dark about so much of what goes on. If they want to keep the girl innocent, then that's their prerogative, but it's not going to do her any good in the long run. She isn't innocent, though; he can tell from the few times they've actually talked. But, then again, Tsukiyama isn't offering up any response himself. Selfishly, he prefers if she didn't know what Kaneki does to him in the name of sparring. Everyone has to make sacrifices, but -

Hinami is looking at him again. "You wanted to make sure hunting was safe?"

" _Oui_ ," he responds; she did use the word safe. "We can be safer."

"Please be safer," Hinami says, looking at Kaneki now.

Kaneki opens his mouth, although words don't escape it immediately. "We are. I promise."

She nods, although her mouth is still in a tight line. "Let's have coffee."

She crosses the living room into the kitchenette before anyone can say for or against. It makes Tsukiyama want to reach out and kiss her hand. The look that Kaneki and Banjou throw him, though, clearly states that this isn't over. But Tsukiyama has gotten his point across. He'll take what little victories while he can.

 

**11.**

He's bleeding into his shoe.

To be honest, he should have stopped and made a quick meal before leaving, but he'd just wanted to get out. Even Kaneki's usually delicious smell had edged too much into death and destruction aimed at him for Tsukiyama to ignore. He's usually so good at ignoring such things, which usually allows him to dig deeper at his prey, but today -

_What's happening to me?_

The sock, pants, and left shoe are ruined. He'll need to clean his car, too. Tsukiyama sighs and takes the elevator, leaning his head back against the mirror. He checks over his shoulder as he exits on his floor to make sure he didn't leave any bloodstains behind. Thankfully not.

Discovering that he doesn't have any food elicits a loud groan. He does not feel like going out hunting tonight, not after that horrendous conversation, sparring with Kaneki, and getting stuck in traffic. Tsukiyama sits on the kitchen tile and stares dejectedly into the offensively empty refrigerator. He'd just hunted for himself, he'd thought, but apparently his usual supply and habits are just not keeping up with his role as Kaneki's sword.

_I'm losing my mind._

Tsukiyama shuts the refrigerator door. Pushes himself up with a moan. His leg hurts. It's stopped bleeding, but he's healing sluggishly. He doesn't have to eat, but it would speed up the process and stopper the pain. He could hunt in this this condition, but it would be time-consuming and probably messy, and he's just cleaned up. 

Instead, he finds himself back in bed, curled up in his blankets with his tablet. There's a number of emails he should look at, but he doesn't have the presence of mind to deal with any sort of business. He can't fall behind, and he technically still has final exams to sit in a couple of weeks, even though they don't matter towards his degree. He usually would care about these things, but right now -

Tsukiyama turns on the music player, sets it to shuffle, and closes his eyes.

 

**12.**

His phone is ringing. 

"Hello?"

"Shuu."

Tsukiyama is still half-asleep, but he wants to slap himself. He fell for it.

"Mother. I was sleeping."

"You've been avoiding me."

Well, that's true. Tsukiyama rolls back into bed, pulling the covers over his head. His mother sighs on the other end.

"What's going on?"

 _I think I'm going crazy._ "I'm studying for exams."

Another sigh, heavier. "Oh, Shuu, you haven't had to study for those things in two years."

That's true, too. Tsukiyama rubs his left eye. His leg still hurts a bit, but it's dull, so it must be mostly healed.

"Is there something you need, Mother?"

"Hm," she says, and Tsukiyama knows that she's going over her own paperwork at this time before she meets up with whoever it is she wants to do business with this morning. "No. I was wondering when I would next see you."

That draws Tsukiyama up short. It's rare that they see each other. It's not that they don't get along, rather that they do. Mother understands Tsukiyama in a ways that Tsukiyama is pretty sure no one else ever will, and Tsukiyama is his mother's son more than his father's even though he inherited the name. When they're together, though, they can't be their own persons, and they both deeply value their independence. So it's rare that they opt to see each other outside of business or very particular social context.

It's time to confess. "I'm not attending graduation."

A soft noise over the phone. "I thought not," she says, matter of fact. "I will be down in Tokyo in about three weeks for business. After your exams. We should have coffee."

" _Oui_."

They murmur their good-byes. Tsukiyama puts the approximate date into his calendar, making it overlap the entire post-exam weekend. He puts the phone back in the charging cradle and throws an arm over his eyes.

It's seven-thirteen in the morning.

 

**13.**

He actually is taking time to study for the exams he hasn't decided whether or not he'll actually sit when his phone rings again. Kaneki.

"We need to hunt."

 _I need to hunt_ , Tsukiyama nearly says, but that would be him being a petulant child. "Ah," he says instead, "do you have need for my expertise?"

Banjou ends up meeting Tsukiyama at a park just after dusk. Tsukiyama isn't exactly in prime condition to fight and would have much preferred Kaneki, who, while his control is rather tenuous, can actually use his kagune. The expression on Banjou's face is extremely sour.

"That stunt you pulled with the photos has got Hinami all worked up," Banjou mutters as they walk in the shadows, looking for someone that will serve as appropriate prey.

"This isn't secure for hunting," Tsukiyama hisses back, and he's starting to wonder if he's the actually one of the saner people in the group, even if he does feel increasingly unmoored these days.

"She's worrying about us all now," Banjou growls as they pass into the mouth of a very dark alleyway that smells like it knows its dark and unwatched.

" _Mon Dieu_ ," Tsukiyama starts before a drunken singing filters into their hearing range and they fall silent.

It's a quick and simple kill, which is just as well. It's a salaryman in his mid-thirties, and he's of an extraordinarily average build. It'll suit their needs just as well. Banjou starts the process of wrapping up the body for transport as Tsukiyama retracts his kagune and begins putting his cardigan and coat back on. 

"Oi."

Tsukiyama turns just in time to almost get smacked in the face by a hand in a plastic bag. Their prey's hand.

Banjou is scowling at him. "You're favouring your left side."

Tsukiyama nearly throws the hand back, but he's not so stupid to deny it. They walked about a mile, trying to find a suitable spot to do this. Tsukiyama had to do all the dirty work, just like he suspected he would. It makes him feel like a butcher rather than a gourmet.

"Why haven't you healed?"

 _I ran out of food and couldn't motivate myself to get more._ "I've been very busy." _I am possibly losing my mind._ "I work hard to help Kaneki-kun and everyone else."

Banjou grimaces but curiously doesn't say anything. He finishes packing the body up into the hiking backpack, sling it over his shoulders. He looks like someone going on an outdoors adventure. Even for Tsukiyama, it's a rather bizarre image.

"I'm heading back," he says, and the grimace shifts to a frown. "How are you -"

Tsukiyama waves, turning and walking down the alleyway. "Good-bye."

They're actually within a five-minute walking distance of where Tsukiyama has hidden his car, but he doesn't want Banjou to know that. He doesn't want Banjou to know he has a car, although if it was Kaneki, he would answer without hesitation. His car still needs to be cleaned, though. Tsukiyama tucks the hand into his coat's right pocket before exiting the alleyway, pulling out his cellphone to stare at it as he walks. He looks like any other twenty-something, nose in their phone and oblivious to the world.

He nearly ruins the ruse by bursting into hysterical laughter.

 

**14.**

His phone is ringing.

Tsukiyama swears. He wants to put it on silent, but there are some calls he gets that he can't ignore. It's Kaneki. He doesn't remember the last time he had a night of uninterrupted sleep.

"Tsukiyama-san, did I wake you?"

He blinks owlishly at the ceiling. "Ah -"

"Oh," and the voice on the line is like listening to a blast from the past; it's so earnest it's more jarring than getting punched in the face, "I did. I'm sorry."

Tsukiyama is badly disconcerted. "You can call me any time, Kaneki-kun. It's no trouble."

There's an intake of breath. "It's four in the morning."

Tsukiyama adjusts the blankets around his shoulders, burrows his chin into the soft one he likes against his skin. It smells faintly like him. He needs to do laundry.

"There's a poem about that," he says, and he knows he probably sounds a little sleepy, but that's just how he feels. "By Wislawa Szymborsk. Have you heard of it?"

"No," Kaneki says, and Tsukiyama can't help but smile; he sounds so _dolce_. "How does it go?"

Tsukiyama twists in bed, tapping on his tablet. "Mhm, it's not very long. I'll read it to you."

A shifting. "Okay."

Something uncurls in Tsukiyama's chest. It makes him smile.

 

**15.**

He actually goes to class the next day.

It's noon lecture, and the class is about the Nursing Care Insurance System. It's a small lecture, only about twenty people, and the lecturer gives him a look when he sits down like Tsukiyama is somehow delinquent. In truth, it's not an unfair assumption, even though Tsukiyama got a low A on the midterm assignment. Tsukiyama rarely comes to class these days. The other students look vaguely surprised to see him.

Perhaps he should try to look contrite or even a little embarrassed, but Tsukiyama doesn't really have the will to perform today. Coming to class, showing his face: that's enough. It's important to maintain his alibi that he's Tsukiyama Shuu, head of the wealthy Tsukiyama family and one of the top of his class at university. Being those things makes it look like he's far too busy to be involved with illegitimate, ghoulish activities, let alone a constantly expanding plot to take down Aogiri Tree.

Tsukiyama sips his coffee (it's from a shop across this particular building and tastes weird) and pretends to take notes. The room is sort of stuffy, and he can smell that the young lady in front of him has brought bento for lunch. It's vegetarian, and it smells like she's mixed white and brown rice. Tsukiyama wonders whether she's usually vegetarian or if she's experimenting. He wonders what an equivalent to a vegetarian diet would be for a ghoul. Maybe eating only certain types of organs? Just digestive organs? Including or excluding the kidneys? Maybe only skin and tendons?

The lecturer changes the slide. Tsukiyama looks down at his notes. He's written exactly two sentences and one question. One reads _call Chie_. The second is an unpunctuated list of ingredients he thinks he smells in the lunch in front of him: _tofu garlic avocado rice soy sauce celery(?) peas_. The question simply reads _coffee?_ and he isn't entirely sure why he wrote it. It's lucky that he's sitting in the back of the class, or the lecturer would probably have come up with some sort of way to call out his inattention now. 

The class drags on. Tsukiyama makes more of an effort to pay attention so that he'll have notes in his bookbag in case he needs them for an alibi. He needs to figure out a target for hunting for himself because he can't start depending on Kaneki or Banjou to share food with him. He would say it's because their haphazard, need-based style of hunting isn't up to his standards, which is true, but it's also a safety issue. Tsukiyama can't just take easy targets and suicides. The CCG can't be alerted to the fact that the Gourmet's patterns have changed too drastically. He still is the Gourmet. He has to be selective.

Class ends. Tsukiyama puts his notebook in his bag and stands up, fishing out his phone. He has two missed calls. He frowns. One is from Matsumae and one is from Kaneki. The first he knows he can expect an email from, but the other -

"Tsukiyama-san," the lecturer's voice intrudes, and Tsukiyama forces himself to pause where he is. "A moment, please?"

Tsukiyama represses the urge to keep going out the door and turns himself back around. He smiles.

"Yamamoto-sensei?"

For some reason, this makes Yamamoto frown at him. He waits for the rest of the students to file out of the class. Tsukiyama fiddles with his phone in hand, trying to not look down at it too obviously. He can make an educated guess that this is about his regular absences. He doesn't have time for this. He's _busy_ -

"Tsukiyama-san," Yamamoto says, and it's very clear now that Tsukiyama is expected to pay one-hundred percent attention. "You've missed the past three classes. You do remember that a portion of your grade is for attendance and participation?"

He forces himself to put his phone in his back pocket. "I do."

Yamamoto continues to frown. "You did well on the midterm exam, so I know this isn't for a lack of motivation."

Tsukiyama waits a moment before he realises that Yamamoto wants him to comment. On what? Tsukiyama adjusts his hold on his bag. He doesn't know where this conversation is going, and it never pays to say more than is needed.

" _Merci_ ," he says because it always pays to be polite.

It earns him a sigh. Not exactly disappointed or irritated but definitely not the reaction that Yamamoto was hoping for. 

"You can go."

Tsukiyama smiles and departs. As soon as he steps out into the hallway, though, he lets the smile drop and his own frown to come in place. He doesn't understand. What was he supposed to say? That he is motivated? That he intends to attend class? That he's busy? None of that wouldn't be a lie, but it wouldn't exactly be the truth either. Tsukiyama tries to keep lying to a minimum because the more lies, the more he has to keep track of, and it's not like a calendar that he can keep.

He puts his empty coffee cup in the food waste bin and pulls out his phone as he crosses the street to buy another, even though it's subpar. He needs more caffeine. He has another headache.

 

**16.**

"I need to eat."

Tsukiyama looks up from his regenerating nails. Kaneki is standing several feet away, looking down at his palms. 

"I need to become more powerful."

Oh. Tsukiyama bites the inside of his cheek. That voice -

"Kaneki-kun -"

There's a hand around his throat and his head and shoulders connect with the wall. He can feel his brain jarring in his skull. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but Tsukiyama has never been particularly good at that. Kaneki's eyes are huge and terrible, and he smells like a starving beast. 

"What use is a sword if there is no fuel?" Kaneki snarls, and Tsukiyama braces his hands and feet as best he can against the floor and the wall. "This isn't working. I need to be _stronger_ -"

He is successfully able to predict the punch towards his face quickly enough to get his kagune up to shield himself. Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like all hell to have it blast apart him his face, and Kaneki still tosses him onto the ground fairly easily despite the bracing. Tsukiyama rolls away, reforming his kagune wide and as a shield as quickly as possible. 

It continues like this for a while. Tsukiyama concentrates on keeping as defensive as he can but still engaging for Kaneki, breathing in careful and deep. Kaneki smells like bitter desperation and sour frustration. It makes Tsukiyama's mouth run dry. 

_If I ate him now, I would get a stomach ache._

It ends with blood, gashes, and mottled bruises. His earlier thought turns out to be rather ironic: Tsukiyama stays down, holding the cut in his lower torso so that his skin knits back properly and his intestines don't accidentally spill out. Kaneki lies on the ground about two arm lengths away, wheezing because Tsukiyama slit open his throat. A loss of control. He'd been truly terrified in the moment Kaneki nearly gutted him.

"I guess," Kaneki chokes, harsh and phlegmatic, "I found your limit."

Tsukiyama opens his mouth. A bright, helpless giggle escapes him. Blood wells in his throat. He chokes, coughs. It tastes like blood, spit, and a little bile. Oh. He hears himself giggle again.

"Sorry," he says, breathless and very, very dizzy, "but it's a little bit funny, don't you think?"

Kaneki just stares at him. Tsukiyama hears himself giggle some more.

He thinks: _I'm losing my mind._

 

**17.**

He's eating a cut of thigh. Baked in the oven, wrapped in foil to steam it. Hinami sits across from him this time, a book open in her hands. Her eyes are vacant, though. She's troubled. Kaneki's foil-wrapped meal is in the oven. He's showering. By the time he gets out, it'll be dry.

The front door opens. Banjou comes in, mouth open to announce himself before he catches sight of Tsukiyama and Hinami. Hinami sets her book down with a smile. Tsukiyama decides to create a tradition of putting food in his mouth as a way of greeting. Hinami starts to ask Banjou how his errands were, so Tsukiyama concentrates on finishing his food. He should head home soon. It's most nine in the evening. He has emails to respond to and he's tired.

"Hey, Tsukiyama."

He looks up from his phone. Banjou leans against the bar, arms crossed. Hinami is in the kitchen adjusting the stove.

"How's the leg?"

"Delicious."

Banjou scowls. " _Your_ leg," he says, like Tsukiyama is some kind of idiot.

Tsukiyama puts his utensils down on his plate. " _Parfait_."

Banjou looks ready to press the issue, but Hinami comes back with Kaneki's meal. She's left it in the foil on the plate, the package cut open to let the steam start to escape. She sets it in front of one of the empty seats, putting out utensils for it. Banjou is quiet. The sound of the shower makes up the background. Hinami sits back down and picks up her book.

Tsukiyama thinks, somewhat absurdly, that this is a very sad scene.

 

**18.**

Tsukiyama has a nightmare.

It's a familiar nightmare, which is both good and bad. Good because he understands after a while that it is a nightmare. It's not real. Bad because it's familiar enough that he isn't frightened or distressed enough to wake up. 

He's alone. It's not a rare thing. The walls are covered in books. He is very cold. He huddles under a blanket and looks up at the bookcases, but every time he reaches out, they move further way. He has enough control over the dream due to his awareness of it's nature to stop reaching out, but that doesn't make the lonely, helpless feeling any less upsetting. He hugs the blanket around himself and begs himself to wake up. Please wake up.

His phone is ringing.

Tsukiyama wakes up with a gasp. He's sweaty and tangled in his blankets. His phone rings and he lets it. He lies splayed out, drawing in air like he'd been drowning. He can feel his kagune shifting under his skin. His kakugan are active.

_What's happening to me?_

It takes some time to get himself back under control, Tsukiyama reaches out and pulls his phone from the charging cradle. Chie called. He swipes to call her back.

"Hey, Tsukiyama! Were you sleeping?"

Tsukiyama rubs his eyes as he starts pulling his sheets off his bed. " _Oui._ Did you find something?"

"Maybe," she says, and it's unusual for Chie not to be certain about this sort of thing. "I'll need to show you. Are you going to class today?"

Tsukiyama hadn't really been planning on it, but if that will put them in a convenient place: "Do you need a ride?"

"There's a bakery I want to try," she says. "They're doing a Valentine's Day couples special on their imported coffee. They're supposed to be really good."

It really is good coffee. Columbian beans, very gently roasted and espresso-pressed. It's just below boiling. There's a subtle sweetness that lingers on the palate. Tsukiyama shuts his eyes and sighs. This is bliss. When he opens his eyes, Chie is smiling at him. 

"You like it."

" _Oui_ ," Tsukiyama says, and the day, which has been a mixture of depressing and disinteresting so far feels so much better. "Excellent choice, little mouse."

She grins just as the waiter brings a chocolate croissant. It looks like the very picture of buttery decadence, and it flakes beautifully as she picks it up. Tsukiyama imagines that it would taste something like unpeeled, high quality tenderloin. The thought threatens to make his mouth water, so he takes another sip of coffee.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, sipping coffee and eating. It's Chie that breaks it, setting down the croissant and wiping her fingers on the paper napkin. It's pink in keeping with the Valentine's Day theme. She fishes around in her bag before pulling out a folder that looks like any high school or university attendee's.

"Are you finished with your coffee?"

It's her way of saying he isn't going to like the contents. Tsukiyama swallows the last of his coffee before accepting the folder. He opens it carefully, making sure that only he can see it.

"Ah," he says before he can stop himself.

It's a picture of a ghoul in a body bag. Zoomed in and pixelated, so Chie must have had to be very far away to even get the picture. It's not anyone that Tsukiyama recognises, but it's definitely a ghoul with the kakugan showing. There's a collection of several more bodies in similar states and a few aerial shots of the area. Cargo. Airport. Cabbage fields in the distance.

"This is near Narita."

Chie nods. She pinches off a crispy bit of the croissant and puts it in her mouth. Tsukiyama closes the folder and puts it in his own bookbag. He's glad he finished his coffee. The beautiful taste would be marred if he was to drink it now.

"What do you want for this?"

Chie has the croissant in hand again, but she doesn't take a bite. Chocolate oozes onto her grip. It drips back onto the plate.

"I got those while on another job," she says, and it's soft and a little tense; Tsukiyama resists the urge to check over his shoulders. "I thought you might want to see."

" _Merci beaucoup_ ," he hears himself say. "I need to go."

Chie nods, understanding. He's glad he can at least thank her. Tsukiyama leaves a few bills on the table and hurries out, pulling out his phone. He cannot hesitate. Kaneki picks up after two and a half rings.

"We have a problem."

 

**19.**

When Tsukiyama was very small, Father died.

It was an unceremonious death. He'd backed down from a fight. Tsukiyama doesn't really know the exact details. After all, Grandfather killed Father and then wiped out the other family that was involved. It was at a Sunday brunch. Tsukiyama remembers very clearly that he was wearing blue.

"Always a disappointment," Grandfather had said as servants came out to clean up the mess.

Tsukiyama doesn't know why his mind has decided to cough up that memory. He doesn't try to read too deeply into what his mind sometimes does. If he did, he'd have to start explaining to himself why there's some days where he just lies in bed and does little more than stare at a book or his tablet. If he did, he would have to look at where he found how to be the Gourmet, would have to touch more than just the edge of that part of himself. Tsukiyama doesn't want to do that. He doesn't have time for it. Not if he is going to keep up his cover. Not if he is going to stay the Gourmet. Not if he is going to make Kaneki trust him. Not if he is going to be a perfect sword. 

Kaneki, Banjou, and one of the other insignificant people who are sometimes here stare at the photos. Tsukiyama twists a lock of hair around his forefinger. They're all frowning. He wonders if that's what he looked like when he first opened the file, too.

"I," and there's a slight tremble in Kaneki's voice that makes something stutter in Tsukiyama's chest. "I've seen two of these before."

He holds up two of the heavily pixelated pictures. One looks like a woman with dyed blond hair, her mouth hanging open grotesquely. The second is a child, just old enough to start to take on the definition of a male in the face. 

"They used to come to Anteiku," Kaneki says; he puts the photos back down on the coffee table, elbows on his knees. "I think they're related."

Banjou's jaw is tight. "Did your informant say how she came by these?"

Tsukiyama fingers the ends of his hair. "It was originally for something unrelated. Hence the unusually bad quality." 

Kaneki is quiet, contemplating the photos. Tsukiyama wonders if he's sad, or if he's simply thinking. If this was the Kaneki who had worked at Anteiku, all of Kaneki's emotions would be written in his eyes and the set of his jaw. Now, there are moments where Tsukiyama has no idea what Kaneki might be thinking. It makes him nervous.

"I doubt the bodies are still there," Tsukiyama says because he doesn't know where a continued silence might lead. "It's near to Narita Airport. They look like they're being readied for shipment."

"To where?" asks the insignificant person that Tsukiyama can't be bothered to remember the name of.

Tsukiyama shrugs, resists the urge to put his hand against his mouth or in his hair. "Somewhere domestic. That's not a refrigeration crate, and they're only bagged. I doubt wherever they're going is worried about preliminary decay, but all that effort implies the bodies _are_ wanted, so, while optimal condition isn't the goal, they'll need to be in good enough condition to be used."

They all stare at him. Tsukiyama stares back. He wants to tell them that he knows what he's talking about, especially since this is technically the same sort of thought process he has for storing meat. It's a dead body, ghoul or not. The same rules apply.

But he doesn't. It's not the kind of thing he says aloud. Despite what most people think, Tsukiyama does know how to keep his mouth shut on certain things. He doesn't go around blindly advertising what he is, and he can read the atmosphere quickly to know where to push and where not to. Right now, anything he says can and will be used against him. That is just how it is.

Kaneki breathes out, his jaw tight. He's still looking at the Anteiku pair. 

"Do you think this is related?"

To us. To me. That goes unsaid. Tsukiyama wonders what Kaneki would taste like right now, if that terrible regret and self-incrimination would be sour, savoury, or slightly off. Tsukiyama leans forward, picking up the photo that shows the scene.

"It's hard to say," he says, turning the photo over in his fingers. "There's always been a market for ghouls."

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he realises his mistake. He shouldn't have said the last sentence. Despite all that Kaneki has changed and he's sure that Banjou and his cohort have seen, they're relatively innocent to certain things that Tsukiyama has known all his life.

"What do you mean?" Banjou asks, and when Tsukiyama looks at him, he looks as unsure as he smells.

Tsukiyama sits back, waving the picture in hand absently. "An example," he starts, and he knows his smile is one of the ugly ones. "Where does the CCG get their quinque? From only the ghouls they kill in the name of the law? _Si seulement_." 

There are too many investigators and not enough ghouls, especially since there's that detention centre as well. Tsukiyama doesn't know the exact process of how quinque are made, but he doubts it's a surefire process. There's probably a lot of kagune that simply don't convert, and the more experimental it gets, more kagune needed. It's not entirely certain if a ghoul has to be dead for their kagune to be harvested, so that's something to consider, too. 

The way that even this makes them look at him: it's like he killed and ate Hinami. Which he would never do because generally ghoul flesh is very far below what he considers a good meal. There is a difference between eating for survival and what Kaneki does and what Tsukiyama considers actual cannibalism. Tsukiyama knows his opinion on this is unpopular, though, so he doesn't say it aloud.

Instead, Tsukiyama looks back at the photo. Turns it in his hands. 

"You asked."

They don't say anything for a long time.

 

**20.**

For the first time in almost three weeks, Tsukiyama goes hunting.

It's not as fun as he usually prefers, but it's a lot more cautious. It's a target he picked out almost half a year ago, a veterinary technician who takes extremely good care of her body but especially her hands and forearms. Originally, he had only intended to take those parts, but his current needs necessitate having meat for storage. She's a vegan, which Tsukiyama has never eaten before, so he's hoping the different diet will give something novel to her entire body.

He severs her head from her neck as she steps into her dark, unsecured apartment. No time to scream or to even register pain. He's laid out plastic wrap, and he takes care to make the dismembering quick and to minimise the mess. He'll have to do more cleaning back at his apartment of the body, of course, and he'll have to dispose of the clothes and the cleaning supplies elsewhere. All in all, he thinks somewhat dully as he packs his prey into the trunk of his car, it's dissatisfying to hunt like this.

He's due for something more showy in about a week's time, Tsukiyama thinks while sitting at a stoplight. There's a few possible targets, two of whom he'd originally intended for the Ghoul Restaurant. He wonders if he should keep them for the possibility of regaining favour there, which is probably what he should do. After all, it's always good to have a back-up plan.

He never used to have a back-up plan.

It's almost midnight when Tsukiyama is done with cleaning, skinning, and preparing the veterinary technician. The hands, forearms, and heart go in the refrigerator. He freezes the rest, even though defrosting inevitably makes everything slightly more soggy. He ties up all the plastic and personal items, and double bags it to send to take by where the Ghoul Restaurant as well as several other ghoul organisations regularly dispose of such waste. He treats himself to the thumbs, clear polished nails removed, braised.

He gets into bed after showering with a new book that's just come in the mail. It's a new translation of Vladimir Mayakovsky's poetry that Tsukiyama preordered almost a year ago. He was looking forward enough to include the release date in his calendar.

He dozes off upright in bed two and a half pages in.

 

**21.**

"Protect them. I must protect them."

Tsukiyama coughs up blood and bile and what was probably coffee. Kaneki is gripping his hair so hard he might pull it out.

" _Oui_ ," Tsukiyama coughs again, spitting up more once coffee now red-tinged sick. "Ah, Kaneki-kun -"

"Protect," Kaneki moans, huddling in on himself. "Need to be stronger -"

Tsukiyama watches. He could try to eat Kaneki now, but when Kaneki gets like this, he's at his most unpredictable. He's not at the optimal ripeness. Tsukiyama pushes himself back into kiza, still alert enough to defend himself or attack if needed but less obviously winded. He needs to look like he can hold his own in case Kaneki loses himself. Predators always take a bit more time to assess another predator.

Kaneki looks at him. Both of his eyes are equally wide, equally wild. Tsukiyama braces himself.

"I need to eat."

A short beat. When Kaneki doesn't launch himself forward and his hands remain clutching his hair, Tsukiyama makes himself smile. He doesn't shift his kagune out of shield.

"There's food upstairs."

Kaneki snarls, hands gripping harder at his hair. " _No_ ," he snarls, lurching but not actually moving forward. "You know what I mean!"

Tsukiyama does. It's not the first time that Kaneki has gone on like this, and it definitely won't be the last. In the past, sometimes Kaneki forgets about it once he calms down, and other times he drags Tsukiyama and Banjou out to hunt ghouls they've encountered or used for information. It's a way to clean house, Tsukiyama has come to think of those times. But that method isn't safe as Chie's photos have proved, and Tsukiyama has become the one who keeps Kaneki fed and safe. Tsukiyama's mind moves as fast as it can to try and figure out what Kaneki wants him to do this time.

"We need time -"

It's lucky that Tsukiyama stayed braced because he's able to take the impact of Kaneki's kagune lashing out. It hurts but not as much as it could have.

"I don't have time!" Kaneki roars as his body follows his kagune, and they slam onto the floor together. "There's always more questions -"

Frustration. Tsukiyama can taste it clearly in Kaneki's scent. Ah, now he understands. He lets Kaneki grapple with him. But then there's a shift, and before he can stop the instinct reaction to being bodily covered and pushed down, Tsukiyama finds himself throwing his full weight into his movements. It takes Kaneki off-guard. Tsukiyama lands a solid punch to the side of Kaneki's neck before he can defend himself. There's a loud crack. Kaneki's skull connects with the floor with a bang. He lies wide-eyed and twitching. Tsukiyama suspects he might have broken something in his neck.

Tsukiyama pushes himself away from Kaneki, backing away on his hands and knees. He gets just enough room between them to not douse Kaneki when he throws up.

 

**22.**

It was an unspoken rule that they never touched each other.

It was supposed to be Tsukiyama training Kaneki to control his kagune, the ghoul side of him. It was about Tsukiyama being a ghoul and Kaneki controlling that part of himself. It wasn't about Kaneki's new-found aggressiveness or changes to his personality or even giving him a place to vent his emotions. It was just supposed to be sparring, training, like people do in stories to gain better control over a new weapon or ability. 

Tsukiyama has never showered in the apartment. He usually just uses a towel to wipe up and changes into the spare set of clothes he always brings along. Now, though, he's broken that trend, too. He threw up on himself, and he smells more than he can clean up with a towel and the sink. He's sitting on the floor of the shower because his body is shaking so badly he might slip and fall and crack open his own head. There would be more of a mess to clean up, so he showers while sitting because it's enough of a mess already.

He comes out of the bathroom to the smell of meat cooking. Kaneki's bedroom door is closed, so he must have already come up from the basement. Tsukiyama stares at the closed door. His hair drips in his face.

"Tsukiyama-san," Hinami calls. "Do you want something to eat?"

The basement needs to be cleaned. Tsukiyama knows that Banjou and his cohort usually do that, and that usually doesn't bother him, but the thought makes his insides writhe. He doesn't know why. He's not ashamed of all the blood and gore and sick. It's a natural by-product of a productive training session. After all, they're all ghouls, and they heal up just fine -

"Tsukiyama-san?"

He blinks. Hinami is looking at him from the table where's she's set out a plate of meat with a knife and fork. He forgot to respond to her. 

"Sorry, Hinami-chan," he says, even though it feels like his voice is coming from somewhere very far away. "It looks lovely."

She smiles at him as he crosses the small space to sit down. The meat cuts easily. She's roasted it. It looks like another thigh piece. He can barely taste or smell it at all. He wonders if his sense of smell and taste has been temporarily damaged by vomiting. The thought causes a vague but intense surge of anxiety.

"Is something wrong?" Hinami asks, and his distress must have shown on his face because she looking at him, alarmed. "Does it taste bad?"

Tsukiyama swallows. Shakes his head. He knows it logically would taste quite good. He needs to lie.

"No, it's wonderfully tender," he says, and he hopes his face is cooperating with what he wants to be a reassuring and friendly smile. "You've done a great job."

"Oh, thank you," she says, and she smiles again, although Tsukiyama can see in her eyes that she hasn't completely bought it. "Do you think Kaneki-niisan will be joining us?"

Tsukiyama resists the urge to look over his shoulder at the closed door. "I know he must be able to smell how delicious this is," he says, which is an evasion but Tsukiyama doesn't make a habit of going around making false promises.

Hinami nods, her face falling. She sits down adjacent to Tsukiyama. They stay like this for a while as Tsukiyama mechanically consumes the meat. He's now eaten at least one thigh of the kill that was meant to last Kaneki and her two weeks. He's not even that physically injured this time. He could have waited until he got home. He has food in his fridge.

_What's happening to me?_

He helps Hinami clean up. She really does try hard to help Kaneki and all of them. Tsukiyama hasn't asked her age or exactly how she came to be so close to Kaneki, but he doesn't need to ask such things to be able to understand how much she cares. She's forcing herself to grow up this way, moulding herself to fit into whatever space she can find. It is something that Tsukiyama recognises.

He shies away from that thought.

Kaneki doesn't come out by the time he's helped Hinami do the dishes and store the roasted meat away. He has no excuse to linger. Hinami looks at the closed door, frowning slightly, eyes pinched in worry. It's such an old expression. It makes Tsukiyama want to reach out. Touch her shoulder. He stops himself. He feels unbalanced.

_I'm losing my mind._

 

**23.**

He spends the next day going over the Kyoto renovations and studying. It's slow-going, but it's something he has to do. He's decided to attend his final exams.

He spends the first half of the day studying. It's not, Tsukiyama thinks as he makes himself a new pot of coffee, that he doesn't like university. In fact, he really enjoys it, even though he chose his major in Social Welfare more for the practicality of it than anything else. He doesn't actually need a degree, but it's a perfect reason for him to both be in Tokyo where everything happens and to expand his palate. He supposes that once the family relocates to Kyoto there will be new opportunities there, but so long as he is involved with Kaneki, he'll need to stay in Tokyo. 

He goes over the Kyoto paperwork that Matsumae forwarded as the sun starts to set. The Kyoto property is very traditional and within walking distance of Nanzen-ji. It has four houses, one for the main family, two for branch members, and one for guests. It's in relatively good condition, although the guest house is severely outdated and one of the branch houses probably hasn't been inhabited for about a decade. Looking at the layout of the grounds, Tsukiyama can see why Mother wants to keep this property for the family. It has high walls and wide areas, perfect for entertaining both humans and ghouls without necessarily inviting anyone into the houses. The mountains are nearby, which is always a plus in case the need for quick, temporary disposals arises. There are willow and cherry trees on the property.

 _It's very beautiful_ , he texts Matsumae.

 _Your mother wonders if you would like one of the houses_ , Matsumae texts back.

Tsukiyama stares at the text. He hadn't even thought about that. It makes sense in a way because he's an adult and this assumes and offers him privacy. A part of Tsukiyama is touched by this. Another part is rather disconcerted. He hadn't realised it, but he'd simply been assuming that he would stay in the main house with Mother if he ever visited. Then again, the last time he lived with Mother regularly was when he was twelve, so it's a rather strange assumption to make.

 _Oui_ , he texts back because he's started this whole thing with making back up plans and this seems logical.

He finishes catching up on the paperwork near to ten in the evening. It's left him with tight shoulders and crick in his neck, but he can finally clear out his email. The less information he's carrying around on his phone, the better, especially with all the things he gets up to with or without Kaneki. Tsukiyama showers, eats one of the leftover braised fingers, and climbs into bed. He opens Mayakovsky's poetry, bedside table lamp on.

He falls asleep sitting up eight pages in.

 

**24.**

He gets a phone call on his way back of disposing of his kill's waste and personal effects. It's Banjou.

"What happened two nights ago?"

Tsukiyama uses his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear as he washes his hands. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" Banjou snarls. "Kaneki-san hasn't come out of his room, and the basement was a mess. I know you were here."

Tsukiyama dries his hands on his pants and hooks his toes on the collar of his discarded shirt to flip it into the laundry hamper. " _Monsieur_ Banjoi, if I didn't know any better, I would think you were accusing me of something."

"Hell yeah I am!" A noise in the background like Banjou hit something relatively solid. "He won't even respond to Hinami. What did you do?"

 _He held me down and I broke his neck._ "Well, perhaps we did get a bit rough."

"No shit."

There's a very awkward silence. Tsukiyama doesn't really have anything to say, and Banjou clearly wants him to say something. He's standing shirtless in his bathroom doorway, still using his shoulder to hold his phone to his ear. He can hear Banjou breathing, hears a very deep, very angry intake of breath.

"Fuck you," he says before hanging up.

 

**25.**

"Tsukiyama-san," Yamamoto says. "Are we boring you?"

It's a rainy, overcast day. It's cliché, but Tsukiyama feels justified by that. It matches his mood. 

He forces himself to smile, the one that looks pleasant and a little sheepish. "Sorry, Yamamoto-sensei," he says, and his voice comes out appropriately apologetic. "Would you kindly repeat the question?"

His head feels like it's been stuffed full of cotton. He didn't sleep at all the night before even after taking a couple of tablets he knows he really shouldn't have. Even though he's actually studied the material they're discussing, he feels less aware of what is going on than ever. He should have stayed home, but Yamamoto has noticed his absences. Tsukiyama doesn't want it being brought up with the college. It's unlikely it would impede his graduation, but he needs to play it safe.

Yamamoto sighs. "There wasn't a question," he says. "We're discussing recent changes to price subsidies for food. You wrote your midterm on that, so I was expecting you to participate."

Oh. Tsukiyama feels stupid. He really was out of it. He can't even remember what he was thinking about, if he was thinking anything. His notes are no help either. He has a heading for the class written at the top of his paper and nothing else.

"Ah, _oui_ ," he says, mentally attempting to shake the fog out of his brain, "farmer subsidies."

He tries his best to parrot the contents of his paper clearly and concisely while wishing that the coffee he drank before class would kick in. It's probably a poor performance, although a few students still are taking notes (or writing love letters from how one of them smells). Tsukiyama tries to filter everything else out for a bit and actually pay attention.

If this had been a few months ago, or maybe even a few weeks ago, he would be extremely embarrassed. Now, though, Tsukiyama has a hard time finding the energy to feel remotely ashamed. This identity, the Tsukiyama Shuu who is a stellar university student from a prosperous family, it feels stale and dull, a necessity like brushing teeth and trimming nails. It was never all that interesting to begin with, but he wonders if he should have gone towards something he actually finds interesting. Literature. Fashion. Even theatre. Why did he choose social welfare aside from the fact it vaguely sees related to his family's business? If he really wanted to suit that mould, he should have chosen business or finance or even politics.

"Tsukiyama-san," Yamamoto says after class is let out. "A moment?"

It's easy to stop. Easy to smile. He keeps his demeanour sheepish, edging towards cowed.

"I am sorry," he reiterates. "I didn't sleep well last night."

"I can tell," Yamamoto says blandly; Tsukiyama represses the instinctive wince. "It is good to see you coming to class regularly again, but -" and he takes a deep breath, "is there something you would like to talk about?"

Tsukiyama knows he should say something. He should deflect this immediately. People prying: he's supposed to have spent his entire life mastering how to not let this happen. Instead, he feels unbalanced, like he's missed a rung on a ladder. He feels like when he was seven, tripping over his own kagune. He landed face first and split his lip.

"No, I -" Tsukiyama realises too late he doesn't know what he should say; he flounders. "No."

Yamamoto-sensei clearly doesn't buy it. Tsukiyama has to do something. Anything. He isn't supposed to be this incompetent. What's happened to his prized self-control?

_What's happening to me?_

"I'm sorry," he says, and he doesn't like the plaintive note in his voice, hates it like he hates getting angry. "Thank you for your concern. It's appreciated."

Yamamoto-sensei sighs deeply, inclining his head. "You can go."

Tsukiyama flees.

 

**26.**

The florist has in early bloom hyacinth in purple, deep pink, and white. Tsukiyama selects two of each colour and the florist makes an arrangement with squill and thin leafy stems that Tsukiyama doesn't know the name of. He drives with the bouquet in his passenger seat like some sort of observer.

He sits at an intersection. He remembers when he first moved to Tokyo when he was twelve that it had been something of a nasty shock to be surrounded by so many humans, so many buildings, so many cars. There were too many scents, and he'd easily been overwhelmed. In those early days, Matsumae had to keep a close eye on him, especially since he'd only just begun to hit puberty. He was wilful but too easy prey if anyone figured out his identity either as Tsukiyama Shuu or as a ghoul. 

He doesn't like to think about that time, but it's where his mind has chosen to go. Ghouls and humans alike prey on children. This is something that Tsukiyama knows well from experience, from listening to Grandfather discussing the market for flesh as well as Matsumae and Mother's warnings to teach him caution. Tsukiyama can't remember if he ever didn't know what happens to the bodies passed through the black market, can't say if he's ever been disturbed or innocent of such practices. It's just always been part of his life.

Because of his family's dealings, it was inevitable that he would become known to the CCG. He was thirteen when they started to call him the Gourmet, and he attached himself to that name, twisted it and made it his own. After all, it's better to control the information they receive and thus how he's perceived rather than to let their speculation run rampant. They're not terribly bright, but there's a few among them who occasionally hit the nail on the head.

Tsukiyama parks in a parking structure about seven blocks from the rented house. He tucks the bouquet under his arm, slings his bookbag over his shoulder, and puts an umbrella up as he walks. He hasn't called ahead, but he doesn't expect to be welcomed. He climbs the stairs, lets himself in.

"What -" 

Banjou is half to his feet, springing from the living room couch. Hinami has a kanji exercise book open between them. Tsukiyama smiles, shifting the bouquet to unsling his bookbag from his shoulder.

"- are you doing here?"

"You called," Tsukiyama says, moving to the kitchen counter to begin changing the flowers.

"Yeah," Banjou says, storming over and getting up in Tsukiyama's personal space, almost knocking the vase to the floor. "I told you -"

" _Oui_ ," Tsukiyama breathes, hands full of flowers but nowhere near unarmed. "Is he still in there?"

Banjou clenches his jaw. That's all the confirmation Tsukiyama needs. He takes the old bouquet to place in the trash, returning to take the vase to empty out in the sink. It's very clean. Hinami must be regularly changing the water. She tries so hard. Tsukiyama -

"Look -"

He can feel the way his smile stretches. 

"I am." 

He wonders how he never realised it before. He's been so blind. 

"I'm right here."

 

**0.**

"Hey, Tsukiyama-san?"

They're sitting together on the basement floor. Their backs are against the wall. Kaneki smells like heady exertion and vague regrets.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

Tsukiyama tilts his head, aching muscles stretching with protests. "Of course."

"But they were your friends."

They're silent for a long moment. Kaneki breathes deep, full. If Tsukiyama ate him right now, though, he would taste like the Ghoul Restaurant.

"I wouldn't call them friends," Tsukiyama says, and if his diction is a little lethargic, it's just because he's worn out. "Sure, I've known some of them for years, but ghouls, we aren't sentimental creatures."

A shifting. Kaneki is looking at him. Tsukiyama turns his head enough to catch his mismatched gaze, take in the thin frown on his lips.

"You believe that?"

Tsukiyama feels his lips quirk. 

" _Oui_ ," he says, "I do."


End file.
